


Let's Take a Love Bath Baby

by Chichirinoda



Series: Red, White, and Blue Cross [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bath Houses, M/M, Non-Consensual Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-05-01 16:24:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5212667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chichirinoda/pseuds/Chichirinoda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rumlow is sure that things are over between them, but Steve has other plans. And frankly, so does he.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let's Take a Love Bath Baby

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Runlights](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Runlights/gifts).



Well, that was it, then. Rumlow had driven Cap away, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it.

A month ago, Brock had shoved a handgun in Captain America’s mouth and blown his load between his thighs. It had been a beautiful, magical day. It had provided him with so much fap fodder, he had gone through half an extra-large bottle of lube. For a week, every time he even thought about that shooting gallery, he had popped a boner.

And Steve Rogers hadn’t even tried to talk to him since, except about work. Not a single attempt to get him alone. Not even a hint of puppy-dog blue gaze directed wistfully at him from across a crowded room.

On the one hand, it confirmed what all the scientists said - Cap was enhanced on every conceivable metric, not just in the way he could crack a walnut between those perfect ass cheeks, but also when it came to his intelligence. Clearly, he had come to understand that Rumlow was right and the entire fantastical idea of a relationship between them was ridiculous and a stupid idea.

On the other hand, it was a damn shame, because there were still so many things Brock could think of that he’d like to do, and Cap was being entirely, completely, fucking professional.

Fuck.

They had been on three STRIKE missions together in that time. Steve had put on his red, white and blue, and done amazing things, and Rumlow went home each time with a raging erection. Frankly, Rumlow wasn’t sure what was more pathetic - the fact that he ended the night masturbating furiously, all alone in a dark room, or that he was so upset about it.

But then, tonight, when he had gotten in from an unfortunately Cap-free escort mission, and opened up his locker, there was a small hand-written note sitting innocently inside. It appeared to have been torn from a small notebook, the neat lettering apparently written by someone wielding a poorly-sharpened pencil.

Rumlow knew exactly who had left it there - though not _how_ he’d gotten it there - before he’d even picked up the note and unfolded it to read the short missive.

_Rumlow. Meet me at the Docks at 8. No excuses. --Steve_

“Oh _fuck_ ,” he muttered. He raised the slip of paper to his nose and inhaled. Shit, it even smelled like him. It had probably spent an entire month molded to the contours of Steve’s ass inside the back pocket of his jeans.

Oh, he had it _so_ bad.

“What’ve you got there, boss?” Rollins appeared at his shoulder. Thankfully, he seemed to be the only one of STRIKE within earshot when Rumlow had made his unfortunate discovery. 

Rumlow crumpled the note, considered eating it to hide the evidence, and just shoved it deep into his pocket. “Tell you later.”

“You joining us? Bunch of the guys are hitting the bar,” his second asked, taking the curt response in stride.

“Can’t,” Rumlow said, closing his locker, and sliding his sidearm into his underarm holster. He might need it later. “I’ve got a hot date.”

* * *

The Docks, of course, wasn’t a seedy warehouse smelling of fish. No. It was an ancient Irish pub in Brooklyn, where neither of them could afford to live. When Rumlow got there, his feeling that this was the biggest mistake of his life only deepened. The place was sweet - all green kitschy Irish decorations and warm, buttery oak wood. The one saving grace was that Rumlow’s big fish hadn’t decided to make a total fool of himself and invite him to a swanky place, since Rumlow was dressed in a black t-shirt and jeans, and a leather jacket to hide the piece. But it didn’t actually make things much better.

Oh well, at least he’d probably still get laid tonight.

He stepped inside and saw a blond head turn, a look of surprise and pleasure flickering in Steve’s blue eyes. He was seated in a booth, two menus laid out in front of him, a half-empty glass of water leaving a ring on a green cardboard coaster with some kind of beer label on it. Steve smiled. “You came.”

As Rumlow walked over to him, the super-soldier got to his feet, like Rumlow was a woman or something and he was going to pull out his chair for him. He didn’t sit.

“We’re not staying here,” Brock said, looking up at the taller man.

Steve started visibly, and glanced down at the table, like he was searching for what was wrong with the romantic little set-up he’d got going there. “What…why not?” When Steve looked up again, there was a mulish look in his eyes that Brock didn’t much like. No, he had different plans for this evening, and it didn’t involve slamming his head repeatedly into a man-shaped wall. When Steve got his back up, nothing much could move him.

Hell, it didn’t matter. If Cap got uppity, he could just walk. Plans could keep.

“Correction - _I’m_ not staying here. You can come with me, or stay and have a basket of ‘chips’ all on your lonesome if you want,” Rumlow said, then arched a brow, like a dare.

Steve looked at him for a beat, then the mulish look cleared from his eyes. “Okay,” he said. “Where do you want to go instead?” Hook, line, and sinker.

Rumlow glanced around. There were a few other patrons, most of them trying to pretend they weren’t watching Captain America talk to the shorter dark-haired man, but no one was close enough to hear their conversation. Even still, he leaned closer. “You bring me here to fuck, or to talk? What’s the end-game tonight?”

Steve blushed. Shit, he loved it when he did that.

“Both. Uh, in the opposite order,” he stammered. “Talking, then… hopefully, the other thing.”

_Jesus H. Christ. Why am I even considering fucking a kid who can’t even say the words?_

He knew very well that was half the reason why.

Rumlow gazed at him for a few seconds, letting him sweat, then smirked, slow and full of promise. “Come on.” He turned and walked out of the pub, as if he just assumed Captain America would follow. 

And follow, he did.

They walked together in silence for a few minutes, leaving the cheerful, warm pub behind. The night air wrapped around them, carrying the crispness of snow and the melange of night-time city smells along with it - garbage, exhaust, the cloying perfume of a nearby Lush, Indian food, Starbucks. Steve walked beside him, a nervous tension vibrating off of him, which Rumlow did his best to ignore. He hoped the All-American Boyscout wouldn’t try to hold his hand.

They passed an alley where a pair of gays were giving each other a hand-job next to an overflowing trash bin. Steve’s head turned to look, then returned to face forward when they’d passed them by. Rumlow couldn’t quite read his expression.

“So,” Rumlow said, when the sounds of their pleasured grunts had receded to silence behind them. “Let’s talk.”

Steve shot him a look. “You want to talk, now? Why do I get the impression that you don’t want to? Or that no matter what I say, you’ll just dodge the issue?”

Rumlow rolled his eyes. “Because there is no issue, and there’s nothing to talk about. I’ve been honest with you from the beginning. But I’m here, aren’t I? You brought me out tonight. So say your piece.” 

Steve bit his lip, studying the sidewalk in front of them as they put one foot in front of the other. “I don’t have a piece to say,” he said finally. “I just thought… well, I meant for tonight to be a little different - an actual date, actually getting to _know_ each other, that’s all.”

“Cap.” Rumlow’s tone came out almost fond. “You don’t want to know me.”

“How can I know that if I don’t _know_?” Steve protested. He reached out, put a hand on Rumlow’s shoulder to stop him, and suddenly they were facing each other. Rumlow looked up at the taller man, settling his weight as if expecting an attack. His feet shifted, balanced, but his upper body leaned in almost languidly, comfortable and relaxed in his own skin and utterly self-assured in the face of a man who could cave in his skull with one misplaced gesture. It was interesting to see Steve’s agitation, but he wished he’d just get over it.

“ _I_ know.”

Steve didn’t seem to have a response for that. There was a short silence, as the blond stared at him. 

Oh jeez, yes, and there was that struck-puppy gaze that Rumlow had been missing. He lifted a hand and cupped Steve’s cheek, a tender gesture. “Don’t look like that. You want a boyfriend? There are approximately three and a half billion people out there who’d gladly fit the bill. And the other half are women, who’d all date and fuck you just as happily. All I’m asking is you take me as I am, not try to change me. If you don’t like what I’ve got to offer, then you know where the door is.”

Steve’s gaze dropped, and then when he looked up, it was with new resolution. “You’re right, I apologize. You _have_ been honest from the beginning, and I should respect that.”

So that was it, then. Now Steve would take his leave. Rumlow gave a nod, a mixture of disappointment and relief washing over him as he let his hand fall to his side once more. _Goodbye Steve Rogers’ glorious cock, you will be missed._ But at least he wouldn’t have him dogging his heels, trying to _date_ like a couple of love-struck teenagers. 

But as he started to turn, Steve caught him by the shoulder again and drew him back. Abruptly, they were kissing, right there on the sidewalk, right in the _open_.

_Jesus fuck, I thought he was shy._

He tasted of all the most incredible things, and Rumlow enjoyed it thoroughly for two and a half seconds before he bit him sharply on the lip. Steve jerked away with a yelp of surprise, releasing him and raising a hand to his lip, dabbing at the little spot of blood there. “Rumlow—?”

Rumlow licked his own lips with a hungry smirk. “Simmer down, cowboy. Let’s not give the paparazzi anything to print, shall we? I have a reputation to keep.”

Steve blinked, then flushed and glanced around. The streets were fairly deserted right now, but this was New York. People weren’t far away at any time, and they all had cellphone cameras. “Ah, right. I just didn’t think for a second.”

“Don’t think. I like it.” Rumlow grabbed him by the elbow and gave him a little shove in the direction they’d been walking before the Talk began. “Come on. It’s not much further.” He lengthened his stride, headed for a little strip mall dominated by a Chinese restaurant with a glowing pink sign advertising dim sum. 

“What’s not much further?” Steve asked.

“You’ll see.”

Beside the Chinese restaurant was a door. It was the only establishment in the plaza that had sign with no lights, just a simple plastic rectangle bearing the word “Steamworks”.

To Rumlow’s surprise, Steve balked, and there was recognition in his tone. “Oh. Are you sure?”

He looked at him levelly. “Do I have to give you the talk again?” They were either in or they were out, as far as he was concerned. Sooner or later, he knew Steve would walk. Whether it was tonight, or another night, he’d find a sweet girl to settle down with and give up his adventures with the leader of STRIKE. Knowing that was coming, Rumlow wasn’t going to baby him along - not anymore.

Steve shook his head, looking abashed. “No, no, of course not. I just didn’t expect, er. I thought you didn’t want to do this in public. I thought that was your thing.”

Rumlow blinked, reviewed the last half-hour, and then the other times they’d had sex. Yeah, he could see why Steve would come to that conclusion. He snorted faintly. “This isn’t public. Public is a goddamned restaurant or a street corner. This is just a place people come to fuck.” He pulled the door open and stepped inside.

“You really aren’t into romance, are you,” Steve said wryly, following him inside.

Rumlow figured that had to be a rhetorical question.

Even the lobby of the establishment was warm and somewhat humid. Rumlow grabbed a few towels and two sets of keys from the muscled guy with a shaved head who tended the front desk, then led Steve down a narrow set of stairs into the bowels of the building. The humidity increased with each step, and Brock instantly regretted the jacket he was wearing. Sweat beaded on the back of his neck and rolled down between his shoulder blades before he’d even reached the bottom of the staircase.

At the foot of the stairs was a locker room. It was a relief to pull off his jacket and harness, and then strip right down to nothing in the hot, foggy air. Steve said nothing, following his lead and stripping down without any obvious shame - but then, why should he be shy? He was a fucking god compared to the pasty beached whales who wandered about this place. 

The moment they were both nude and their belongings locked up, Rumlow caught Steve by the hand and tugged him close, seeking his lips in a fierce, rough kiss. Steve gave a soft, sweet murmur of relief, and gave as good as he got. The super-soldier pressed Rumlow against the locker, the wood grain rough and prickly against Rumlow’s back.

Steve’s hands began to wander, running down his sides before strong fingers gripped Rumlow’s hips. The STRIKE leader broke the kiss, though he arched up, eager to feel the power in those hands. “Easy, tiger,” Rumlow murmured. “Let’s find us a good spot, hmm?”

“Yes,” Steve breathed, low and needy. 

The grip loosened, and Rumlow ducked under Steve’s arm. He snapped his towel at the super-soldier’s ass, and Steve yelped, then laughed, the sound swallowed by the clouds of steam that gathered in the air. 

Rumlow led Steve through the maze. The floor was smooth, raw concrete. In each room, there was a brazier, with glowing rocks deep in its heart, and a bucket of water to feed the steam. Largely hidden by the mist, pairs of men made the monster with two backs, on benches or even on the floors. There were boxes of condoms and bottles of lube on tables in each room, too. Rumlow grabbed what he needed, then took Steve by the hand and led him to a slightly cooler part of the labyrinth, a room subdivided into stalls, each with a wide bench. Rumlow paused at the first empty one and noted the glory hole, right at waist height. Well, he wouldn’t be using that.

Instead, he tugged Steve into the cubby with him, and pointed to the bench. “Sit.”

Steve hesitated, then sat. His expression was slightly uncertain, but his cock certainly knew what it wanted. He was hard and flushed, the shaft standing straight up as he took a seat on the bench. Good.

Rumlow dropped to his knees. 

“You’ve been here before,” Steve said, his tone revelatory.

Rumlow didn’t dignify that with a response. Besides, he had more interesting things he needed his mouth for. He pushed Steve’s knees apart and shifted forward, bending to take that perfect cock into his mouth. Steve moaned softly, and a hand came to rest gently in Rumlow’s sweat-soaked hair. 

Moans and sighs of pleasure wafted towards them through the fog, directionless, but Rumlow only had ears for the sounds coming from above him right now. Steve dropped back to rest against the wall of the cubical, gasping and giving a sharp groan as Rumlow bobbed his head up and down, taking more and more of his cock into his mouth with each stroke. The STRIKE leader took his time, enjoying the flavour, and the feeling of it against his tongue, smooth and hot and velvety.

“Oh god…Brock,” Steve moaned, gasping, his voice rising in volume. “Oh…”

He paused, just for a moment, just to hear the cry of dismay and horror as Steve vocalized his fear that Rumlow was going to deny his orgasm again. Then he swirled his tongue around the head and gave one, long, deep suck.

Steve cried out again, arching, as fluids flooded Rumlow’s mouth. He swallowed them down, then raised his head and rose to his feet while Steve lay still insensate, gasping and panting in the hot, steamy air. 

Steve opened his eyes the moment Rumlow gained his feet, his hand shooting out with frightening speed to grab Rumlow by the arm. “Wait, don’t—”

“Shh, I’m not going anywhere,” Rumlow said, amused even though he’d probably have a hand-shaped bruise on his forearm in the morning. He reached out with his free hand, running his fingers through wet, blond hair, brushing the locks back from Steve’s forehead almost tenderly. “Relax, I’ll take care of you. You can walk any time you like, but I’m not going anywhere until you tell me you’re done.”

Steve blinked, slow and maybe a little stupid from the heat. His eyes softened and he released his death-grip on Rumlow, then wrapped both arms around his waist and pulled him in.

Smirking, Rumlow parted his legs and slid into Captain America’s lap, straddling his thighs. They kissed, and Rumlow slid his tongue into Steve’s mouth, plundering it and letting him taste his own seed.

“What do you think?” he murmured before Steve could think of something soppy and adorable to say. “How quick is your refractory period? Did the serum give you the power to fuck all night without stopping?”

“Um.” Steve said. “Well, I think it might have made a difference.”

Rumlow took that full lower lip between his teeth and worried at it. The place where he’d bit him hadn’t fully healed just yet, and he tasted a little blood once again. “Good,” he purred. “Get it up for me, then. I’m not nearly done with you.”

“I’m not done with you, either,” Steve said warmly, his hands running eagerly down Rumlow’s back and cupping his ass. “What do you—”

Rumlow hushed him again, capturing his lips once more. He picked up the lube from the bench beside them, and caught one of Steve’s hands with the other. He pressed the lube into Steve’s palm, and the super-soldier made a surprised, confused noise. When Rumlow again broke the kiss, it was to see Steve frowning up at him, an eyebrow raised in question.

“Prep me. I want you inside me, just like this. You know what I mean?” Rumlow instructed, and he thrilled as Steve immediately nodded and moved to obey. In the field, Cap was unquestionably the leader, but in this setting, he followed Rumlow’s lead like he was born to it. Maybe someday the tables would turn - or maybe someday they’d both be dead from a bullet in their brains - but for now, Rumlow had the incredible joy of directing this powerful weapon with just a few words and a charming smirk.

 _That_ was more masturbatory fuel, just in and of itself.

Slick fingers pushed slowly into Rumlow’s body. Despite the initial burn, as his body stretched to accommodate the digits, Rumlow gave a soft, low moan of encouragement. Steve was so gentle, so sweetly accommodating. He could feel the way the super-soldier watched his face avidly, looking for any sign that Rumlow was uncomfortable. He’d make such a good husband to someone one day.

Rumlow couldn’t stand it. He ran his fingers through Steve’s hair, tightening them to tug and draw his face in close for another kiss. “That’s it,” he murmured against Steve’s lips. They were both breathing fast, their breaths mingling together between their parted lips. “That’s it. I won’t break. Faster.”

Steve wormed two fingers deep into his body, and Rumlow groaned at the burn. “Fuck, _yes_.”

“God, Brock,” Steve whispered, almost in awe. “You sound - you _look_ \- amazing.”

“See how much louder you can make me, then,” Rumlow growled, and captured Steve’s lips again in a rough, hungry kiss. Steve hummed with pleasure, and worked his fingers in and out of Rumlow’s body. Rumlow didn’t try to control his own sounds, grunting and groaning as the pleasure mounted. He rocked his own body forward and back, one hand buried deep in Steve’s blond locks, and slid a hand between them to grip his cock and work it up to life. Even as he touched Steve’s member, it gave a twitch and stiffened, already half-hard.

“Harder,” he growled. “More.” 

Steve gasped softly, his cock hardening to full mast in Rumlow’s hands just at the words. He squirmed as Rumlow masturbated him, and pushed a third finger into Rumlow, tearing an involuntary cry from the STRIKE leader’s throat. “That’s it,” he gasped before Steve could freak out. “That’s how I want it.”

They kissed like they were drowning. Sweat beaded on their skin, as it heated in the humid air. Then Rumlow broke the kiss, arching his back. He grabbed the lube and poured a palmful, then drew his hand up and down Steve’s cock. “I want you _now_ , Rogers.”

“Okay, okay,” Steve panted, and drew his fingers out of Rumlow’s body. Rumlow didn’t wait for him. He positioned himself and pressed himself down, impaling himself on Steve’s member. He’d be walking awkwardly for a week after this, and he couldn’t think of a better reason to wind up bow-legged.

The two of them moved together, the sounds of flesh slapping together and their gasping breaths filling the small space. Rumlow controlled the pace, driving himself down again and again, as Steve writhed and mewled and made soft, appreciative noises that barely resembled words. 

The pain gave way quickly to pure pleasure, and that mounted and mounted until Rumlow threw his head back with a soft hiss of ecstacy. He drove himself down one last time, shuddering as his orgasm hit him hard, and fluids spattered over Steve’s smooth chest and stomach. Steve cried out aloud, jerking under Rumlow’s weight. A few moments later, the other man followed him over the edge, and Rumlow felt a warm rush as Steve emptied himself inside of him.

There were a few minutes of silence, broken only by soft moans and harsh, ragged breaths. Rumlow allowed himself to merely enjoy the feeling of Steve under his hands, the scent and taste of his sweat. Then Rumlow dismounted, rising to his feet with a quiet wince as he felt a sharp pain between his legs. Yeah, he’d definitely be feeling it later. Perfect.

“I’ll just get us some damp towels,” he murmured, and pressed a soft kiss to Steve’s forehead. “Don’t go anywhere, hero.”

Steve opened his eyes and looked up at him foggily, a sweet smile crooking his lips. Rumlow returned it and turned away, walking gingerly out of the cubby and then turning left. 

As he passed the next cubical, he paused. Rollins straightened up from looking through the glory hole in the wood, hand still lazily stroking his own dick. “Nice date,” he murmured. 

Rumlow just smirked and continued on his way.


End file.
